Night and Day part 1
by bulbus
Summary: The circus comes to town and brings with it potentially Clark's greatest ally, or his most dangerous enemy.
1. Chapter 1

Smallville: Night and Day  
  
By Peter Amico Part I  
  
Chapter 1 "Oh my god," gushed Chloe, "I am so loving this!" She took another bite of her cotton candy and beamed at Clark and Pete.  
  
"Who'd believe it," Pete remarked, "Cynical, worldly reporter turns into five year old at circus." He dug his hands into his pockets and watched Chloe devour the rest of the cotton candy.  
  
"Yeah I know," Clark replied. "Hey, isn't some of that mine?" he asked Chloe as he watched her eat.  
  
"Forget it, Kent," she said between bites. "This is all mine, go buy your own."  
  
"I'd do what she says," Pete remarked. "Reach for it now and you'll probably lose a finger."  
  
Clark nodded and laughed. "I'm gonna remember this next time you want help with your homework, Chloe," he promised her. She ignored him and continued eating. All around them calliope music played loudly and the citizens of Smallville walked past enjoying the sights and sounds of the circus. Game and food stalls had been set up to form a long corridor in the field outside of town, and since that morning, Clark, Chloe, and Pete had walked up and down it, trying to sample everything that the circus had to offer.  
  
"So what's next?" Clark asked his friends. "Ring toss; funhouse; or does someone want to try and greet the clowns again?" he asked glancing at Chloe as Pete doubled over laughing.  
  
She frowned at him and looked away huffily, her short blond hair fluffing out as she did. "That clown jumped out at me in a deliberate attempt to scare. He should be fired and stripped of his clown college degree."  
  
"If you say so, Chloe," Pete said. "Meanwhile," he pointed, his eyes lighting up, "I found what I want to try next."  
  
Clark turned around and saw a strength tester set up to the side. One of the football players from school swung a mallet at the base and sent the small weight up to the bell. It clanged loudly as Chloe and Pete cheered him. "You don't really want to try that?" Clark asked in dismay.  
  
"Are you kidding? I've been working out, you know. Might as well put it to good use," Pete laughed and ran to be next in line.  
  
"Come on, Clark," Chloe grabbed his arm. "You're a big, strong farm boy, I'm sure you can show all of them up." She pulled him towards the machine. The trouble was, of course, that Clark could have shown them up. He could clang that bell without even using the hammer. He could probably even pick up the entire machine and send it flying. Ever since his parents had found him on the day of the meteor crash, he had been stronger than other children. As he'd gotten older, his power had kept on growing. He could bend steel in his bare hands, see through walls, move faster than the eye could see, and as he had learned the hard way, bullets simply bounced off him. But with all those powers and abilities, there was one thing he couldn't do; be normal. His parents had warned him about using his powers recklessly, and he had learned through some painful experiences that they were right. If he did reveal his super strength in even something as harmless as this, there would always be people who would want to use him, or his powers, for their own ends. It hurt to keep his abilities bottled up, to stand still when others played football and ran freely. It hurt even more to keep it from his friends. But he'd promised himself and his parents that he would keep the secret safe and a Kent always kept his word.  
  
"You go ahead and try, Pete," Clark said, rubbing his shoulder. "I think I threw my shoulder out when I had to fight that clown off for Chloe." Chloe hit him lightly in the arm and then clapped for Pete.  
  
"Go Pete!" she yelled. "Show that bell what you're made of!" Clark whistled for him and clapped as well. Pete smiled and took the mallet from the attendant. He hefted it a few times and then took his stance in front of the machine. He stared at the bell at the top and then looked down at the lever he had to hit. Pete concentrated, raised the mallet, and swung. He hit the lever squarely and the weight jumped up the pole. It rose to within a foot of the bell and then stopped and came back down. Pete watched it dejectedly as it fell back on the lever.  
  
"Aww, too bad, Pete," Chloe said. Pete shrugged and gave the mallet back.  
  
"You almost had it," Clark comforted him. Chloe nodded in agreement.  
  
"I wouldn't worry too much, Pete," a new voice said. They turned around to see Lex Luthor looking surprisingly low-key in a pair of jeans and an old t-shirt. "These things are rigged anyways so only a few people win."  
  
"Hey, Lex," Clark said and shook his hand. "I didn't think you'd make it."  
  
"What can I say?" Lex replied, "I've never been to a circus so I guess the child in me just came out."  
  
"I think we know how that is," Pete said and glanced at Chloe.  
  
"So what's with the outfit?" Chloe asked him curiously. She pointed at his jeans and t-shirt with the stick from her cotton candy. "This if the first time that I've seen you not wearing something from Armani."  
  
Lex smiled. "I'm incognito. Thought I'd give myself a day off from my father's company and I hoped that no one would recognize me."  
  
"Not much chance of that happening," Clark smiled and glanced at Lex's bald head.  
  
Running his hand over his scalp, Lex shrugged. "I guess you're right," he remarked.  
  
"Hey, you!" the attendant said. They turned to see him standing angrily by the machine. He had the mallet over his shoulder and was glaring at Lex. "Are you Lex Luthor?"  
  
"Yes, I am," Lex said evenly.  
  
"Well, if the big shot CEO thinks the game is rigged, then why don't you come up here and prove it?" the attendant asked him. He offered the mallet to Lex and waited. Lex looked surprised for a moment, then smiled and grabbed the mallet. Pete, Clark, and Chloe cheered him on as he stepped up to the machine. Lex swung the mallet experimentally, and then readied himself in front of the lever. He brought the mallet back and then swung it fiercely. The weight sprang up the pole and the rung the bell loudly. Clark and the others cheered him loudly as Lex gave the mallet back to the fuming attendant.  
  
"Next time, Pete, don't hold anything back," Lex said rubbing his shoulder idly. "When you have to do something, you've got to give it everything you have."  
  
"Easy, Lex, this isn't the boardroom," Chloe said.  
  
"Right," he laughed. Lex turned around, looking at all the booths and people walking by. "You know, this really isn't that bad," he commented. "Not that I'm going to run off and join the circus, but it's nice." He was silent for a moment, then shrugged and turned back to Clark. "I guess I'll leave you all to your fun. If I leave the desk for more than a few hours, my dad starts making takeover bids for the plant. Even if it is still his."  
  
"Are you sure you have to?" Clark asked. "You could come with us for a while; we were going to meet my parents at the escape artist show."  
  
"I don't know if you're parents would be that happy to see me," Lex said. "I think this is more of a family day, Clark."  
  
"Come on," Clark smiled. "They've gotten used to you by now." Chloe and Pete smiled and looked away.  
  
"Anyone ever tell you you're a terrible liar, Clark?" Lex asked. Then he shook his head and laughed. "All right, only for a little while though. But if you're dad starts talking about any shady motives I might have for coming to the circus, you're really going to see an escape artist at work," he promised.  
  
The escape artist show was held in a tent at the end of the row of stalls. Large boards painted with nooses and handcuffs were set up outside, and a girl was standing on a podium just outside the entrance. She was very pretty, with short dark hair that stopped just above her shoulders. Calling to the people walking by, she held a variety of handcuffs in her hands, and challenged anyone to come up and use them to hold her. A set of older boys stepped out of the crowd and eagerly grabbed handcuffs and leg irons from the pile at her feet. They fastened three sets of cuffs to her wrists and a set of irons to her feet. Then they wrapped her in chains for good measure and secured it with a padlock. She smiled and with a shake of her shoulders, the chains fell off of her in a clatter of metal. Twisting her arms around, she removed a pin from the back of her costume and had the locks undone on the cuffs and irons in moments. Smiling to the crowd, she bowed and everyone applauded. One of the boys started to say something, but she yelled over him, "If anyone wants to say these are trick cuffs or irons, I'll lock you up and give you this pin so you can prove it to everyone. Otherwise," she said, spinning a handcuff around one finger, "I suggest you step inside and enjoy the show."  
  
"Want to take that bet, Lex?" Pete asked.  
  
"I never argue with a woman with handcuffs," Lex remarked.  
  
The inside of the tent had been converted into a small theater. Wooden benches were set up in rows with a raised platform in the back as the stage. A small sign at the base of the platform read, Bernard Mellivicent: Master of the Escape, and showed a man wearing a straightjacket. A variety of chains, boxes, and other apparatus littered the stage, and in one corner stood a large tank filled with water. A screen with stars, planets, and comets stood in the other end of the stage. As the tent started to fill up with people, the excitement built steadily. "Are they really going to do that water box trick?" Pete asked, staring at the tank on stage.  
  
"How do you get out of that?" Chloe asked.  
  
Clark smiled and turned to her. "Magic of course," he said. Chloe rolled her eyes and laughed at him.  
  
"Hi guys," Marta Kent said from behind them. She sat down in the row of seats behind them and smiled at them. Jonathon followed her somewhat reluctantly.  
  
"Chloe, Pete," he greeted. "Lex," he said evenly. Lex smiled sarcastically and nodded back to him. "Good to see you guys didn't get lost on the way here."  
  
"Distracted you mean," Martha added. "I can't remember the last time a circus stopped in Smallville. There's so much out there we almost forgot about you kids entirely."  
  
"Your mother had a little too much fun on the Merry Go Round," Jonathon said as he leaned over to Clark. Clark had to muffle a laugh as his mother turned red.  
  
"What's so wrong with enjoying yourself, huh?" Chloe asked everyone. Martha smiled and put her arm around Chloe.  
  
"That's right; we girls have to stick together! Especially when some people, who shall remain nameless, refuse to have a good time every once in a while," she said pointedly.  
  
Jonathon coughed and asked, "When's this show supposed to start anyways?"  
  
"Should be any minute now," Clark said. Almost on cue the tent flap in the back swung open and two men entered. The first wore a simple white shirt under an elaborate overcoat. It was a deep blue and resembled an old parade uniform, complete with cuffs and trimmings. His hair was gray, but he still seemed very fit and there was a lively glint in his eyes. The other was much younger, maybe a few years older than Clark. He was tall, over six feet, with dark hair and blue eyes. He wore a close fitting outfit and stayed behind the first man. For some reason, Clark felt a mental tug as he saw him. The young man seemed almost familiar to him.  
  
"Ladies and Gentlemen, Boys and Girls," the first man started, "Welcome to the show of shows." He stood at the end of the stage and held his arms out to them. "What you are about to see, is my life's work and passion. My family's obsession and heritage," he cried, and he turned slightly as the girl from outside the tent stepped on stage. She walked by him and smiled brightly, which he returned. "But you didn't come to see any of that," the man suddenly added. He lowered his arms and stepped back. "No, you came to see someone break out of cuffs, escape the fate that catches hold when the tumblers fall and the key turns. To see the secrets that criminals would pay anything for. I tell you truly, we use no trick cuffs or locks here." He smiled again in a more playful manner. "Of course, there maybe some sleight of hand performed today, but without it where would the fun be?" The audience chuckled and he smiled with them.  
  
"My name is Bernard Mellivicent and these are my assistants, Tom and Gail. I leave it to you to figure out which one is my daughter," he remarked, evoking another chuckle. Gail laughed brightly and half curtsied to the audience. Tom didn't crack a smile. He waited like a statue by the cuffs and chains, staring out over the audience. "Let's begin with something simple then," Bernard said and Tom sprang to action. He picked up two pairs of handcuffs and stepped over to Bernard. As he stepped out of the back of the stage, Clark had to blink when he saw how developed he was. Tom looked like he had been chiseled out of stone.  
  
"Now the handcuff is the most basic of all prisons in this world," Bernard said as Tom snapped a pair of cuffs on his wrists. As Tom bent down to fasten the second pair to Bernard's feet, he continued, "With a simple metal click, it holds our criminals tightly bound and keeps them docile." Tom stood up and Bernard handed back the pair of cuffs that had been on his wrists. Clark started as he realized he had missed the man remove them entirely. Bernard bent down and with a flip of his wrists; the cuffs on his feet fell to the floor. Then he straightened and put his arms behind his back as Tom snapped the first pair back on them. Then he bent down and reattached the second pair to Bernard's feet. As the cuffs locked, the first pair hit the ground behind Bernard and Tom picked them up without missing a beat. Not even bothering to reach down this time, Bernard bent his feet at an angle and snapped them together. The cuffs fell off easily. Tom retrieved these and Bernard looked out over the crowd. "After all," he commented, "Who can break free of them?"  
  
Clark stared in shock for a moment, and then found himself applauding wildly. Everyone around him followed as well. Chloe put her fingers in her mouth and whistled loudly. Bernard bowed slightly and then put his arms up and waved the applause away. "In case any of you were wondering, that was no trick. A trick means you fool someone. That right there was skill, something honed through discipline, knowledge, and endless practice. And if any of you don't believe me, you can come up and try the cuffs for yourself. Or on second thought, don't. I just remembered; we lost that key."  
  
The show continued, and each escape seemed more incredible than the last. Bernard allowed the audience to shackle him with chains and irons. He had a pair of local deputies put Gail in the most elaborate restraints the Smallville Police had. Then Tom was put in the best straightjacket that the local hospital had to offer. Each escaped in less than a minute's time. As Clark and his friends watched, the trio escaped from every conceivable form of cage or lock known to man. But throughout the show, Clark could not stop glancing at the assistant, Tom. While Bernard and Gail would laugh and joke with the audience, Tom never said a word. He didn't laugh or smile, just did any task Bernard gave him quickly and flawlessly. It was unnerving, Clark thought, and little frightening how cold he seemed.  
  
"That guy's not much of a performer, huh Lex?" Clark whispered to him as Tom escaped from an intricate series of chains and padlocks on stage. When Lex didn't say anything, Clark nudged him and glanced over. Lex was staring at the stage with a look of puzzlement. "Are you alright, Lex?" Clark asked quietly.  
  
Lex blinked suddenly, as if he had just now noticed Clark. "Sorry, yeah, I'm fine," he said quickly. Clark watched him turn back to the stage with a confused look on his face. "Everything's fine," Lex repeated absently, rubbing his chin in deep thought. Clark was about to say something when Bernard called out over the audience.  
  
"Now I'm sure you've all been wondering when I'm going to get to that oversized fish tank in the corner," he said, gesturing to the tank of water. At his cue Tom and Gail rolled it onto center stage and Bernard stepped in front of it. The tank was eight feet tall and set on a trolley. The outside walls were covered with locks and chains and inside water joshed around from the motion. Tom stepped behind the tank and wheeled over a small ladder to it, while Gail brought out the straightjacket that Tom had worn earlier. "Made famous by Houdini, this trick takes all of an artist's skill, strength, and mental fortitude. One mistake can be fatal," he said in almost a whisper, and then his voice broke into a laugh, "so of course I'm not going to do it."  
  
He gestured to Tom who stared back at the audience stoically. Gail helped him into the straightjacket as her father continued. "Tom is the youngest person in America to ever attempt this trick, and I stress attempt because this is his first try. We'll give him five minutes to escape and if he can't, well," Bernard shrugged. "I suppose there might not be a second attempt." With his sharp vision, Clark could see Gail smile at this comment, but Tom hardly blinked. He didn't seem to be concerned at all as Gail tightened the straps holding him.  
  
When everything was as tight as she could make it, Gail brought out a black hood and after turning it inside out to show the crowd it was empty, put it over Tom's head. Then she guided him to the ladder and with her father's help, climbed up the ladder with him. She positioned Tom to sit down over the tank's edge with his feet in the water. "At the next signal from Gail," Bernard said to the crowd, "Tom will be locked into place and we'll start the clock. In five minutes time we'll pull back the screen and see if we'll have to set another place at supper again or not." There was some nervous laughter from the audience as everyone stared on stage.  
  
"Are you ready, Tom?" Bernard asked. Tom nodded firmly and Gail clapped his shoulders three times. On the third one, Tom jumped into the water and quickly upended himself so that his feet were sticking up. With startling strength for such a small girl, Gail reached into the water and pulled his legs up until she could lock them into place in the cover of the tank. Tom hung in the tank, motionless, as she finished locking his legs into place. The locks left his knees and feet out of the water, but the rest of his body was submerged was submerged. As she climbed down the ladder, Bernard carefully moved the screen into place. Gail emerged from behind the screen and moved a large timer's clock out into the open. The hands were frozen at sixty.  
  
"Now when this clock has come around five times," Bernard said, "we'll remove the screen and see how Tom's done. Don't worry; I have complete faith in the boy. He's a bit foolhardy, but he's learned from the most gifted mind in the business, my own. My mind is like a razor, not a single detail escapes my eye," he boasted. Gail coughed politely from the side and Bernard turned to her in impatience. "What is it, girl?" She prodded the clock with her foot and Bernard stared at her for a moment. "Oh that's right," he said suddenly, and walked over to hit a button on the top of the clock. The clock started and Bernard turned sheepishly to the audience and shrugged.  
  
As the seconds ticked by slowly, everyone in the audience waited anxiously. Pete kept staring at the clock on stage, then checking his wrist watch every few seconds. Chloe had her fingers wrapped around the bottom of her chair as she waited nervously. Clark was a bundle of impatience as he watched the hand of the clock move slowly. Even Lex seemed nervous, sitting forwards in his chair and staring at the screen. The only people who didn't seem concerned were Bernard and Gail on stage. Bernard watched the clock calmly, while Gail sat on the edge of the table and toyed with a length of chain. Neither of them looked at the screen at all as the minutes ticked by.  
  
Even with his remarkable hearing, Clark couldn't hear anything coming from behind the screen. He expected, at the least, to hear the water in the cage churning about, but there was nothing. As two minutes passed by on the clock, Clark finally had enough and focused his x-ray vision on the screen. As he squinted, the colors of the world fell away to harsh black and whites, and Clark could see through the screen to inside the cage. He went cold as he saw Tom's skeleton hanging motionless inside the cage. Clark blinked and checked again, but there was no change. Tom's arms were still folded up in the straightjacket; he hadn't even removed it. Clark started to sweat as he realized he had to do something or Tom would drown. He might have passed out moments ago, or just after the screen was in place, but there was still three minutes left to go. How could he warn everyone and not reveal how he knew? He turned to Lex and said, "Maybe he won't get out in time. Shouldn't we check or something?"  
  
"Worried, Clark?" Lex smiled back. "Don't worry, they're professionals."  
  
"Right," Clark said helplessly. Chloe smiled at him and patted his arm comfortingly. Clark thought about turning around to tell his parents, but there was no way he could tell them in this crowd without someone overhearing. And besides, he realized; what could they do?  
  
"Two minutes left to go," Bernard called out from the stage. Clark stared through the screen again, hoping for some sign of movement, but Tom still hung motionless. He didn't have a choice, Clark realized, he'd have to run on stage, knock aside the screen, and be back in his seat before anyone could see him. He didn't know if he was that fast yet, but maybe he could make it. It was a tremendous risk, but what else could he do?  
  
Just as Clark was ready to spring out of his seat, Gail dropped the chain she was holding. It hit the stage with a loud clatter that made everyone jump in the audience. She smiled, embarrassed, and picked it up quickly. No one but Clark could see it, but that noise had suddenly galvanized Tom. Clark watched in amazement as he struggled upside down in the cage. Then to his greater astonishment, Tom's arms were free and he reached up to the tank's ceiling. He hadn't been passed out, Clark realized, he'd been waiting in the tank all this time.  
  
Not even bothering with the locks on his feet, Tom pushed up on the ceiling and Clark could only stare as it opened easily. Tom pushed himself out of the ceiling hatch and onto the ledge of the tank. Steadying himself with one hand, he made a sweeping gesture over his face and then put his hand down. Clark could just barely see the outline of the mask fall to the ground. "One minute to go," Bernard said suddenly, tearing Clark's attention away. He sat back in his seat, confused and almost a bit disappointed. They'd built the trick up to be so dangerous, and then it turned out to be nothing more than just that, a trick. Tom had gotten out of the case in less than a minute, but had waited for three minutes before he'd started. Clark had to wonder, why would anyone do something like that?  
  
"Isn't this exciting?" Chloe asked him quickly, glancing back at the stage as she did.  
  
"Yeah, sure," Clark mumbled as the last few seconds ticked off the clock.  
  
"Time!" Bernard shouted to everyone. Gail jumped off the table and started towards the screen, but it was pushed aside before she could reach it. Tom, soaked to the bone, guided the screen towards the back of the stage, and then turned the audience. Everyone stared as he stood there, dripping wet and waiting expectantly. Finally, someone in the back started to clap and it swept through the audience, building to a roaring applause. Tom endured it for a moment, then frowned slightly and backed up, looking away. Before he could escape however, Gail grabbed his hand and marched him to center-stage. She guided him through a stiff bow and then turned and curtsied to her father. Bernard smiled and stood behind them, gesturing over the audience. All three bowed one last time and then they walked out behind the curtains.  
  
"Now that was something," Pete said, gathering up his coat.  
  
Martha smiled back in agreement and nodded. "I haven't seen anything like that since I was a kid."  
  
"We used to get traveling shows like that out here," Jonathon said. "I must have seen every one of them, but that was definitely the best."  
  
Chloe smiled and turned to Clark. "What did you think?" she asked him.  
  
"I guess you could say, I was kind of surprised by it," Clark remarked. His mother rolled her eyes and groaned.  
  
"The Kent understatement strikes again," she said. Jonathon laughed and put his arm around her. Together they walked out of the tent, followed by Chloe and Pete. Clark started to follow them when he glanced back and saw Lex still standing by his seat.  
  
"Coming, Lex?" he asked. Lex turned and shook his head.  
  
"Not this time," he said, looking back at the curtain in the back. "I've got something to check out first, but I'll catch up."  
  
"Okay," Clark said, a little disappointed. "I guess I'll see you later then." Lex nodded as Clark followed everyone out. Then, weaving his way through the last of the exiting people, Lex made his way to the back of the tent. He stepped through the curtains and outside into a sectioned off portion of grass outside the tent. Open trunks were spread around along with a bench and a folding chair. The remains of a sandwich and a coke were on a rickety table at the end of the area. A young man knelt beside it, drying himself off with a towel. Lex watched him for a moment and then smiled broadly.  
  
"Hello Bruce," he said quietly. 


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2  
  
Tom stared up at Lex for a moment, his face blank and unconcerned. "I'm sorry?" he asked finally.  
  
"Bruce," Lex repeated. "Bruce Wayne, that's your name, right?" Tom stared at Lex, then shrugged and went back to drying his head. "You can't fool me," Lex said, coming closer. "I know we've never met, but I do recognize you. Our photos were side by side in Time. 'The most likely to change the world in their lifetimes,' I believe it called us. That's not the sort of thing you forget.  
  
"I don't know what you're talking about," Tom said evenly. "My name's Tom Malone, you must be mistaken."  
  
"Drop the act," Lex demanded. He leaned down on the table and waited, staring at him. Tom got up and walked towards the tent, ignoring him. "Fine, be that way," Lex said. "But I'm sure a few well placed calls to the Inquisitor will tell me all I need to know."  
  
Tom stopped in his tracks and looked back at him. For a moment, something cold shot through Lex as Tom glared at him, making him take a step back. Then Tom's face dissolved into a helpless grin. "Guess I can't fool the great, Lex Luthor," Tom, or rather Bruce, said quietly. His shoulders slumped a little and he began playing with the towel in his hands as he looked at Lex.  
  
He looks so different now, Lex thought strangely.  
  
Recovering quickly, Lex asked, "Just what are you doing in the circus, Bruce?" He shrugged and slung the towel over his neck, still gripping it tightly.  
  
"Oh, you know," he said, "I ran away." Lex stared at him for a moment, and Bruce laughed. "Well, maybe not ran away, but I did join the circus. I mean, I figured five years of college was enough for me, so I decided to do something fun for a while, and I sort of found this place."  
  
"And hanging upside down in a tank of water is your idea of fun?" Lex asked. "What happened to the parties and the girls I used to hear you connected to? Or did I just figure out why you're here," he laughed. "I thought I'd heard a rumor about you and one of the President's daughters."  
  
"Now that's just not true," Bruce protested. "I'm on good terms with both of them. Very good terms."  
  
"I see." Lex picked up a length of discarded chain and fingered it briefly. "So then would you mind explaining your new hobby to me? It seems kind of reckless for someone with a billion dollar trust fund. Or anyone in fact."  
  
"Oh, it's not that bad," Bruce, laughed. He slapped Lex on the shoulder, making him wince. "I mean, once you've walked away from a 100 mile-an-hour rollout in your third Porsche, there's not much thrill left in the world. I need something like this to make me feel alive. Besides, I hate to spoil it for you, but it's all a trick really. The top of the tank isn't locked and you can just pull yourself up to get out. The straight-jacket and cuffs are rigged too."  
  
"You don't say," Lex commented, rubbing his shoulder gingerly.  
  
"Oh I'm sorry, Lex, did you think they were real?" Bruce asked in mock sincerity and then doubled over laughing. "I'm disappointed in you. We've both been handcuffed a few times before, am I right? You had to know all that up there was just a trick, something for the local yokels. God, people are ignorant sometimes," he smiled. Lex didn't say anything, still watching him.  
  
Bruce laughed again and glanced back inside the tent. "Now I hate to say this, I know it sounds strange coming from me, but I do have some work to do. I've got to pack all that stuff on stage back up, so maybe I'll talk to you again?" he asked, edging his way around Lex.  
  
"Sure," Lex said. "Why don't you stop by my mansion tonight? I can show you the hot night spots in Smallville, all two of them."  
  
"I'm. busy tonight," Bruce said quickly. "But maybe we can try again," he said.  
  
"Tomorrow then," Lex said firmly. He stepped over the rope divider and started to walk away, when he turned back. "Don't forget it, Bruce," he called. "I want to hear more about this career change of yours. And If I have to track you down to get the truth, I will." Bruce smiled and waved as Lex walked out of sight.  
  
As soon as he was gone, the smile fell off of Bruce's face as he stared moodily into the distance. "Perfect," he mumbled. "Just perfect." He looked around at the tents and shook his head. "So much still to learn and now Lex Luthor," he spit the name out. He tossed the towel onto the table and grabbed the rest of his sandwich. "You can come out now, Gail," he said before taking a bite.  
  
Gail stepped out from behind the curtain and marched over to him, her face a thundercloud. "What was that all about?" she demanded. Bruce sighed and made a face, not looking at her.  
  
"What the hell gives you the right to lie to us, Tom, or Bruce!" she yelled at him. Bruce looked down at her and took another bite. "I can't believe this, Bruce Wayne," she paced around him. "Bruce Wayne! I've seen you're picture in the paper, but I didn't recognize you!"  
  
"They were old photos and my hair was longer," he shrugged. "You weren't supposed to recognize me."  
  
She opened her mouth and then snapped it close suddenly. She stopped in front of him and tried to compose herself. Gail pointed her finger at him, but couldn't seem to speak. Bruce took another bite and waited.  
  
"What are you doing here?" she asked finally. Bruce shrugged and swallowed.  
  
"I came to learn, just like I told your dad," he said seriously. "I need to know anything either of you can teach me."  
  
"Oh, so now we can teach you? We're not just a pair of liars and con- artists amusing the local yokels?" she snapped. He sighed again and rubbed his forehead slightly in aggravation.  
  
"You weren't supposed to hear that," he told her, "and I only said it because he was here. If I didn't respect your father's skill, I wouldn't be here."  
  
But why are you here?" she asked. "You're rich! You don't need to know how to break out of cuffs. Hell, you don't even need to know how to drive. You've probably got a chauffer or something."  
  
Bruce laughed and looked away. "Actually, just a butler back in Gotham. He's more like family, really." Gail looked at him, no longer upset.  
  
"Why did you come here?" she asked him again. Bruce finished his sandwich and grabbed his towel off the table.  
  
"I've got work to do," he said and started to move away.  
  
"No, don't you dare walk away!" she yelled at him. He ignored her and kept going. She started to follow, then stopped and glowered at him. "Fine, walk away. That's all you'll ever do!" she screamed. Bruce disappeared inside the tent and left her outside. Gail stood there, quivering with rage, unable to speak. Then with a furious cry, she overturned the table and threw the chairs over the ropes. She kicked over crates, broke a standing mirror against a pole, and then tried to push over the pole for good measure, all the while screaming and cursing at the top of her lungs. Performers gathered from all the other tents, huddled together at a safe distance to watch as she destroyed everything she could get her hands on.  
  
When there was nothing left, Gail stomped off, and the worried performers frantically made way for her. She stalked by the tents, looking for something else to break. "Gail?" someone called from behind her. She turned quickly to see Richard, the manager's son, inching his way near her.  
  
"Get away from me, Richie," she snarled. She clenched her fists tightly, making the bones crack. "I'm not in the best mood right now."  
  
"I guessed that," he said dryly. Despite the fact that Richard was almost a foot taller than her, he only out weighed her by ten pounds. All throughout his life, Richard had always seemed thin and weak. In a circus, everyone worked their fair share, but Richie, who was prone to fainting and dizziness if he worked too hard, had never been able help out. Being the manager's son though, enabled him to skip any chores he might have had, but it had alienated him from the other performers. Gail was the only friend he seemed to have.  
  
"I mean it, Richie," she warned him. "Get away from me." He smiled and took another step closer.  
  
"C'mon," he laughed. "I know tempers, Gail, and you've got a great one, but you're not gonna hit me." She raised her fist and he flinched back suddenly, but Gail didn't swing. Richie, eyeing her carefully, edged a bit closer. He touched her shoulder comfortingly, and she sighed deeply. Gail sank to her knees and stared at the grass. Picking bits and pieces from the lawn, she said, "He lied to me," softly.  
  
"What?" Richie said, sitting down beside her.  
  
"Tom, he lied to me," she said. She ripped a bit of grass from the ground and let it fall through her fingers. "Jerk," she mumbled. "Idiot. Moron. Pig," she continued, ripping up more grass with every word.  
  
"I guess so," Richie said. He watched her mutilate the grass for a while, and then asked cautiously, "What did he lie about?"  
  
"I don't want to talk about it," she said quickly and looked away.  
  
"Gail, I've been your friend for years," he said. "If you can't tell me, who can you tell?"  
  
"I don't know. I guess. I mean," she floundered helplessly. Shaking her head, Gail tried to get her feelings into words. "It's just, he's lived with my dad and me for almost a year now, and he's been hiding something from us the whole time. We took him in and Dad taught him everything, and now this." she finished, tossing grass into the air. It tumbled in the air and fell quickly. "I hate him," she whispered. Richie put his arm around her, comfortingly.  
  
It was all he could do to keep from smiling. 


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3 All his life, Richie had wanted Gail in the worst way. It was more than love; it was a desire, a need, which bordered on obsession. She was so strong, outgoing, and full of life; she was everything he was not. It had existed before lust, before he had even had an idea of what that had meant. From the moment that he had seen her, watched her move and heard her laugh, he had wanted. And now here, finally, was his chance.  
  
"It sounds like he's a jerk," he agreed with her. She didn't say anything, just picked at the ground. Feeling emboldened, he gave her shoulder a squeeze and moved closer to her. "So, you want me to walk over there and punch his lights out," he asked, half-jokingly. Gail stood up suddenly and he retreated back.  
  
"No," she said simply and shook her head for emphasis. "I don't know what I want." She stared off for a moment and then kicked the ground. "Why did he have to do this to us? Everything was going fine," she fumed.  
  
"I don't know about that," Richie muttered. She looked at him, puzzled and he went on. "I mean he's always been so cold to everyone. He doesn't talk to the rest of us, just spends all his time with your dad, training. He's a creep. I never liked him."  
  
"No," Gail shook her head, "he's." she floundered. "It's hard to explain, but he's not cold. He just doesn't know how to act around anyone." She tried to say more when a loud shout cut her off. Richie turned around and paled when he saw who was coming. "Oh, no," Gail mumbled and turned to face them.  
  
"So here she is," Roger Telebaum snarled at Gail. A large man with beefy arms, Roger was the owner and manager of the circus. He stared at Gail with tiny, hard eyes and she backed up in spite of herself. His face was flushed and sweaty, but his voice was chillingly cold. "Do you know exactly how much your little temper tantrum is going to cost me?" he asked her pointedly.  
  
"Roger, leave her be," Gail's father spoke up from behind him. Roger glanced back at him and Bernard moved back a step quickly as well. Gail could feel Richie behind her inching closer. Roger looked back at her and his voice became cloying.  
  
"I don't care what kind of teen crap you're dealing with, girlie," he said, "but I do care when you decide to take it out on my equipment and scare away the patrons. I had more than a half-a-dozen families come crying bloody murder to me when they heard you carrying on back there. Now, what are you going to do about it?"  
  
"We'll take care of any damages," her father promised quickly. Roger's lips curled up in contempt, but he seemed to relax.  
  
"I'll make sure you do," he promised Bernard. "I'll handle buying the replacements; you can just pay me back later." Gail started to say something when Richie gripped her shoulder tightly. She stopped and glanced back at him. "What are you doing here, boy?" Roger asked his son, noticing him for the first time. "I thought I told you to make yourself scarce."  
  
"I'm not doing anything," Richie said sullenly and let go of Gail. Roger eyed his son closely, as if looking for something to get mad about. Backing up, Richie stared at the ground and thrust his hands into his pockets.  
  
"We'll agree to whatever you think is best, Roger," Bernard said smoothly, stepping in between father and son. Roger grunted and nodded.  
  
"'Course you will." He glanced at Gail and then reached out and grabbed his son's arm. "Performances are pretty much done for the day. I may as well start looking for some replacements in town." He smiled at Bernard. "I'll give you the bill when I get back." He walked briskly off, dragging Richie behind him. Richie tried to say something to Gail, but his father pulled on his arm, making him stumble to keep up.  
  
"How can you agree to whatever that troll says?" Gail asked her father when they were gone. "You know he's just going to pad the bill out with whatever he can. We can barely make do with what he pays us now."  
  
Bernard removed a handkerchief from his back pocket and mopped his face before answering. "Gail, you're going to have to face reality one day," he said finally. "Circuses are disappearing. Only the biggest are still open, and they have no place for sideshow acts like us. We have to take the opportunities that life give us, and working for Roger Telebaum is our best chance. His father used to run a fine circus," Bernard mused.  
  
"Too bad his son's a jerk," Gail remarked. Bernard pursed his lips and nodded.  
  
"Maybe more than you know," he agreed. "Roger's the kind of man you're going to have to learn to deal with though. He's petty, not too bright, and arrogant. Men like him have to be treated carefully; get them angry and they'll get you back, even if it means destroying themselves in the process. They're dangerous; he's dangerous."  
  
"I feel sorry for Richie," Gail said suddenly and looked at her dad. Bernard nodded and put his arm around her.  
  
"He's not a bad kid," he agreed. "But he's gotten hard around his father. I worry about him." He was silent for a while, and Gail waited holding on to him. "Well," he said finally, "now do you want to tell me about this temper tantrum of yours?"  
  
Gail shook her head stepped back. "Not now, no," she said quietly. "I will, but I don't know what to think right now. Just give me a little time." Her father nodded.  
  
"Whenever you feel ready though, you know I'm always here for you," he told her gently.  
  
Richie sat in silence as his father drove through the back-roads of Smallville in their battered pick-up. Roger had a map open on his lap and he glanced up and down from it as he drove, swearing occasionally, as he got confused at the directions. His father produced a beer from the glove box and quickly drained half of it. He drove with one hand on the wheel, the other holding his beer, and his head buried in the map as he tried to find the right road. They hit a bump in the dirt road, and with no shocks to speak of; the two were jostled pretty badly. Roger lost his grip on his beer and it fell into his lap, spilling all over the map. If he could have gotten away with it, Richie would have laughed.  
  
Roger brushed the beer can off his lap and it tumbled into the cab. He stared at the mess on his pants and cursed to himself. Richie busied himself staring out the window as he father looked up at him. He knew that all his dad needed was an excuse to start in on him.  
  
Richie and his dad had never been close; at best they had been civil, but that had been a thousand beers ago. His mom had run away when he'd been three, so he couldn't remember much of her at all. Sometimes, he could almost hear her voice, loud and sharp in his memory. He'd grown up around an ever-changing crowd of strangers. People came and went in the circus, and no one had ever really taken the time to befriend the skinny, shy son of the manager. Too weak to do any of the real work around the circus, Richie had wandered around most of his life, doing odd jobs and staying out of sight as much as possible. It had seemed fine to him, until Gail and her father arrived, and for the first time, Richie had seen what he'd been missing.  
  
Maybe that was what he liked about her, he thought. The love she and her dad seemed to have for each other, maybe that was what he wanted so badly. Richie thought about it as his dad drove into town. He was so distracted, he hardly noticed when they stopped and his dad shut off the engine.  
  
"Well, what are you waiting for?" Roger growled and shoved him. "Get going." He gave him another shove against the car door impatiently.  
  
"What?" Ritchie asked, rubbing his arm from where the door handle had hit it.  
  
"I can't go walking around with beer all over me," Roger muttered and gestured to his pants. "You're going to have to buy everything we need." He rummaged around the dashboard and came up with a list of things he'd jotted down. Then he fished around in his wallet and somewhat reluctantly gave Richie his credit card. Richie stared as he saw how much was on it.  
  
"But this'll take all day," he complained. Roger reached over, opened his door, and shoved him out quickly.  
  
"Are you slow or just stupid?" he yelled. "I don't care how long it takes; just get all the stuff back here. Richie stumbled as he was shoved out of the car and almost lost his footing. He stared back up at his dad, and for a moment, he wanted nothing more than hurt his father. The feeling was so pure in its intent that he shuddered. His father must have seen it in his eyes, because his voice became suddenly cold. "You ever want to do something boy, I'm always ready," he offered. Richie held his eyes for a moment, and then looked away. He shoved the list and card in his pockets and started walking. He could feel his father's eyes burning a hole in his back as he turned the corner.  
  
Richie walked down the street, literally trembling with rage. What his father had said to him kept echoing in his mind. He didn't even bother to see where he was going as he walked down the street. Then he stopped cold, and turned around suddenly. He retraced his steps to a parked cop car and stared at it.  
  
"This is really stupid," he muttered to himself. "You're going to get caught, don't do it." He knew he was right, he knew this would end badly, but for some reason, he couldn't keep from smiling as he stared at the car. The car was empty, but they had to be somewhere, he thought, scanning around. He spotted them inside a nearby dinner having lunch. He almost skipped his way up the steps towards them.  
  
"Officers," he said quickly, "there's a guy down the street in a pick-up who's drinking and swearing at everybody. I walked past him and he threw a can at me." Richie rolled up his sleeve to show the bruise the door handle had formed on his arm. The pair looked at each other briefly and then they put down their meals and stood up.  
  
"Where is he now?" one asked, bringing out a little pad and pencil. 


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4  
  
"Goodnight, Mr. Robertson," Lana Lang said as she opened the Talon's main door, getting ready to leave for the night.  
  
The janitor looked up from his mop and smiled. "Please, Lana, you're going to be my boss when this place opens up. Just call me George," he said.  
  
Lana smiled and shrugged, her eyes going a bit wild. "If I can keep my sanity until then, I promise," she said.  
  
"You're doing fine," he assured her.  
  
"At least one of us thinks so," she muttered and walked outside into the night air. It seemed that lately she'd been pulling later and later shifts trying to get everything together for the Talon's grand opening. She sometimes wondered if she would have taken the job if she'd known how much work and responsibility managing the community center would have turned out to be. Lana smiled and pulled her coat tighter as she walked to her car. "Stupid thought," she scolded herself. "You would have taken this job no matter what." Keeping the Talon alive had been Lana's goal since she'd learned her Aunt was selling it to Lex Luthor to turn into a parking lot. She couldn't let the place where her parents had met be torn down and paved over. It was one of the few things she had left of them.  
  
"Still," she muttered, "having a parking lot would have been helpful." Having to walk so far to her car was a hassle she didn't need. As she turned down the corner to where she was parked, Lana stopped in her tracks. Two men were hunched over by her car, whispering to each other hurriedly. Lana froze as they suddenly noticed her and stared as well. For a full second, no one moved. Then one of the men took a hesitant step away from the car.  
  
"Wait," the other ordered and grabbed his partner's hand. He turned back to her and said quietly, "Turn around and forget you saw anything." Lana backed up away from him, too frightened to scream. "Everything's going to be all right," he said calmly, advancing on her. He kept one hand out reassuringly while the other crept behind his back. "It's alright," he said again, coming closer.  
  
As he took another step closer, Lana's throat unclenched and she screamed. She scrambled away as the man broke into a run, pulling out a knife from behind his back. Lana was fast, but her boots had not been made for running. Her lift-heels caught against the pavement and she fell down. She hit the sidewalk hard, feeling the skin on her forearms scrape against the concrete. The car-jacker rushed forward, his knife flashing in the lamplight. Flinching against the pavement, Lana wished suddenly that it would be over quickly. But nothing happened. Stunned, Lana looked up and standing in front of her was a figure all in black.  
  
The bright streetlights were behind him, casting him in darkness. She stared up at him in awe and fear, forgetting all about the man behind her. The figure looked past her to the first of the car-jackers and Lana felt the air tingle. The first thug held up his knife and waved it threateningly. "You want some of this, come and get it," he offered. Without hesitation, the figure leapt adroitly over Lana straight at the man. "Yeah, that's- ugfh," he exclaimed as the figure blocked his knife thrust and kneed him in the gut. He snapped his elbow into the thug's chin and finished him off with a roundhouse punch that sent him flying. He spared a glance at the first man, and then looked over at the second thug. The second thug stared at him in shock, then dropped a sliver of metal to the pavement and fled.  
  
Lana hadn't risen from the pavement, having watched everything from where she'd fell. "Clark?" she asked hesitantly.  
  
The figure turned towards her and said, "Sorry, guess you were expecting someone else." His voice was a pleasant baritone, but something rumbled in it like iron. Now with the streetlights behind her, Lana could see that it wasn't Clark, though there were some similarities. He was a little older than Clark, but not by much. He was also broader and more developed, but with the same dark hair and strong jaw-line. He bent down and helped her up. "I'm sorry I couldn't have been here sooner," he apologized.  
  
"I'd say you got here right on time," Lana said breathlessly. She took a step and almost stumbled, but the young man moved quickly to catch her. "I guess I'd better sit down," she laughed a little. Nodding, he helped her to a bench where she tried to catch her breath. She took a quick peak at her rescuer and then looked away as he glanced at her. God, you're acting like you're fourteen, she thought. Get a grip.  
  
She sneaked another peak at him, and then stared that ground, wishing her heart would stop pounding through her chest. He's not that handsome, she told herself. Well, maybe a little bit more than Clark, she admitted. She started when he suddenly walked back down the alley. "Is everything ok?" she asked.  
  
"Fine," he said, bending over to pick something up near her car. He walked back to her twirling a thin strip of metal between his fingers. "Feeling any better?" he asked her.  
  
"I think so," she said slowly. He nodded and pulled out a cell-phone from his jacket and hit the speed dial.  
  
"A young girl was almost car-jacked at the corner of Washington Avenue and Bridge Street," he said quickly into it, glancing up to read the street signs. "She's safe now, but now you can pick up one of her attacker's here. The other one got away; I'll call you when I find him." Snapping the phone closed, he tucked it away and walked back to the unconscious thug. From another pocket he produced a slender rope and swiftly bound the man's hands and feet.  
  
"What are you doing?" Lana asked in confusion. The young man barely cracked a grin and finished tying the man up.  
  
"Don't want him to get away before the police get here," he said quietly. "You're sure you're alright?" he asked again.  
  
"Yes, I'm fine, but," Lana said, when she heard police sirens in the distance. She turned to look, but they were too far off yet. When she turned back to him though, the young man was gone. Lana stared down the street in confusion and then at the tightly bound thug nearby. "But," she complained, "I never even got your name."  
  
Richie felt like skipping around his father's trailer, that was how good he felt. For years he'd put up with every sort of insult his father could sling at him, endured all the bruises and cuts that his father could dish out, but tonight, he'd felt that he'd finally gotten a little payback. He put his feet up as he sat back in his father's chair and sighed in sweet contentment. "Hope you like a night in the drunk tank," he muttered. He cracked a beer, his father's beer, and took a hesitant gulp. "I might even join you," he laughed, and then choked as the drink burned down his throat.  
  
For something done on the spur of the moment, everything had really worked out nicely. The cops had confronted his father and had asked him to step out of the car. True to form, his father had argued with them loudly until begrudgingly doing so. Noticing the beer stains down his pants and on his breath, the police had then had a few questions for him. From an alley corner, hidden from view, Richie had watched in almost glee as his father first tried to bluff his way out of the mess, then to argue, and then finally been reduced to wheedling and begging. All throughout it, the cops remained stone-faced and in the end had cuffed him and taken him away. Seeing his father shoved into the back of the squad car had more than made up for hitchhiking home. Richie took another sip and this time forced himself to savor the taste.  
  
"Never let me have a beer before," he remarked. He took one gulp after another till it was dry. "Not bad," he said, trying not to make a face as his stomach churned. "Never let me sit here either," he said, leaning back in his father's chair. "Can't stop me now," he laughed. His stomach rumbled again and he stood up quickly. "Maybe a snack would help," he decided.  
  
He made his way to the other end of their trailer into the small area that had been designated as the kitchen. Really, it was nothing more than a small counter with a hot plate, microwave, and a refrigerator since they got most of their meals from the circus cooks. Richie started to crush the can up in his hands, then laughed and threw it on the counter. One of his father's pet peeves was that the trailer had to be spotless and all garbage was triple bagged and compacted swiftly. He swung open the fridge with his foot and grabbed a handful of snacks along with another beer. "Why not?" he laughed. "Can't stop me now." Then he turned around to see his father standing in the open doorway.  
  
Richie stared at his father, dropping the snacks and the beer at his feet. He tried to speak, but the words wouldn't come. His father waited patiently, calmer than Richie had seen him in his life. That made him nervous, very nervous. Something spoke up from the back of his mind that this was bad, very bad. His father might only hurt him if he was mad, he might do anything in this state.  
  
Finally he managed to choke the words out. "I. I thought you were." He almost said arrested, and his mind shuddering away from what would have happened if that had slipped out. "I mean," he said, switching gears, "I came out of the store and you were gone. What happened?" His father shrugged and stepped inside, his face still unearthly calm. He walked past Richie; making him flinch back expecting a punch, but nothing came. Roger walked to the side of the trailer and stared at, of all things, the old family photos that had been hung there. He stared at them silently, his hands clasped behind his back.  
  
"I was just about to have something to eat," Richie said, wishing his father would scream, yell, anything. "You want something?"  
  
"We were all happy then," his father said softly, still staring at the pictures.  
  
Richie could feel his Adam's apple press against his throat as he swallowed. "Sorry? What?" he asked.  
  
"We were so happy then, me, your mother, and you," he repeated. He straightened one of the pictures slightly and sighed. When he turned back to face Richie he was smiling. "I was arrested this afternoon," he stated simply.  
  
"Really?" Richie asked, his voice cracking. "What happened?"  
  
"Oh," his father said, "you know." Richie almost collapsed before his father went on. "A pair of cops drove by and zeroed me out somehow. Must have been some small town cops who don't trust out of state plates. When they had me step out of the car, they had a few questions about the beer all over me." He walked past Richie again and closed the trailer door. He paused for a second, and then Richie heard the sound of the lock falling. "But you know what happened when they took me to the station?" Roger asked him.  
  
Richie felt like his voice came up from his stomach. "No," he croaked out.  
  
"They gave me a blood test and released me. Bet you didn't know it takes more than one beer to get you drunk, did you?" Richie shook his head and backed away from his father. Roger followed him, a vein beating steadily in his forehead now. "And do you know what they accused me of when I left?" he asked his son, his voice becoming a shout. Richie backed up against a chair and fell back over it. His father stood over him and said, "They told me some kid had accused me of throwing beer cans at him. Pity he didn't stick around to press charges. I could've had it out with him then, but I figured I could always just wait until I got home," he grimaced.  
  
Roger grabbed Richie by his shirt hurled him half the length of the trailer. He landed hard on the coffee table and it shattered beneath him. Richie moaned and tried to get his feet under him as he heard his father rushing towards him. Cursing at him, Roger landed a vicious kick to his son's stomach that knocked him down again. He tried for another kick, but somehow Richie managed to tangle his legs with his father's and knock him down first. Scrambling away, Richie raced for the door, but he tripped face first into it as his father caught his legs. Blood sprayed out of his nose and for a moment, Richie almost blacked out. Spitting blood, he tried to squirm away from his father, but his dad's grip was too strong. Then through the blood in his eyes, Richie saw the metal trash bin by the door and grabbed it. He lifted it over his head and threw it straight at his father. Roger looked up just as at it hit him straight on the nose. He let go of Richie and clutched at his face in pain. Blood poured out between his fingers.  
  
Pulling himself up by the door handle, Richie fumbled with the lock and finally got the door open. His father roared behind him and reached blindly for him, but Richie managed to slip out the door just before his father could grab him. He ran blindly, the blood still clouding his vision. He could hear his father stumbling out the trailer door and yelling for him to come back. Richie ran past the circus trailers, all dark and silent. No one came out to help or to see what was wrong. No one ever did. Far off, Richie could still hear his father, still yelling for him. He didn't stop or even slow down. When Richie reached the edge of the circus, he kept running, deep into the fields around them.  
  
His eyes still half-blind from blood and tears, sobbing and gasping for breath, Richie kept running. He ran through the fields and then into the forest. Before long he was tripping over roots and stumbling into thick bushes. Sagging against a tree, he stopped, trying to breath. His lungs felt like tight fists in his chest and he could barely stand. When Richie could finally take a deep breath, he looked around at the dark forest. Everything was pitch black and full of nighttime sounds. Owls hooted overhead and things scurried around in the underbrush. He couldn't even see the stars from where he was standing. Suddenly something screeched to his left, sounding very close. Richie jumped and stumbled away quickly. He'd never been so much as hiking before; he didn't know his way around the woods. He stared around and turned in circles, trying to find his way. An owl hooted again, almost directly overhead, and Richie shivered, starting to feel a chill from the night air.  
  
Holding his arms close now, Richie walked aimlessly, hopelessly lost. He didn't know how long he walked before he heard the sound. He stopped, cocked his head back, and listened. It sounded like the chiming of glass, or a flock of birds. He took a few steps towards it, when all of a sudden it grew much louder. His eyes widened as the sound grew louder and louder, and then it was all around him. Things were flying around him, shrieking at him and hitting him with stiff wings. They were bats, he realized and he tried to get away, beating his head with his arms fearfully. He couldn't stand bats and they were all around him. Then his foot came down on nothing and he tumbled down, far below. Everything was black all around him for a moment, then he landed on razor sharpness and everything went white. Then everything faded into a dull pain and warmth all over his body. The last thing he saw as he faded away; was the white changing into a bright green. 


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5  
  
Lex was just sitting down to his morning latte when Stevens stepped inside. A solid looking aide he had brought with him from Metropolis, Stevens waited patiently for Lex to address him. "Yes?" Lex said expectantly, sipping the drink carefully. Still a little too hot for his tastes, he decided and put the drink down to cool.  
  
"Bruce Wayne to see you, sir," Stevens said quietly. Bruce peaked around the doorway and glanced into the office.  
  
"There you are, Lex!" he said brightly, walking by Stevens without a glance. "I know I was supposed to show up later, but I just couldn't wait to see the great Luthor Jr. holding court." He smiled and glanced around the office, taking in the scenery. "Have to say I'm disappointed though, seems more like my dad's study than a CEO's office. You don't even have that executive ball clicker thing on your desk. I love those."  
  
"I'm not CEO yet," Lex remarked, waving Stevens away. "And it's not as low tech as you might think." He nodded towards a built in screen at the corner of the desk. Bruce laughed and sat down on the corner of the desk to get a better view. Lex frowned a little at this, but moved away so he could see.  
  
"A built in computer, nice," Bruce approved. "I'll have to get myself one of those, someday. Of course," he allowed, "I'll have to get myself a job first though."  
  
Lex smiled and looked at him. "Well, you certainly have enough schools under your belt for that."  
  
"Yeah, but I never stuck around long enough to graduate," Bruce said. "Finals are a bitch."  
  
"True, but from what I understand you impressed several professors along the way." He opened a drawer and pulled out a file, tossing it across the desk at him. Bruce smiled at it and lifted the cover slowly. "In Oxford you excelled at psychology, I believe the professor's official words were, 'He has an innate grasp of the thought process, so much to the point that he can seemingly predict a person's actions based on a single conversation.' Then we have your stint at Harvard where you studied law and forensic science. You went three years there, almost graduated summa cum laude, but seemed to crash and burn in the last quarter. And those were just the major courses. You've also amassed a startling number of hours in chemistry, engineering, biology, pre-med, and sociology. All this and your statement that you and college didn't mix. It didn't make sense. Like Alice said, 'Curiouser and curiouser.'"  
  
Bruce pushed the contents around on the desk with his finger, glancing at them with an odd look in his eyes. For no reason at all, Lex shivered suddenly, sitting back in his chair. He forgot about it as Bruce smiled up at him, looking of all things, amused.  
  
"Have you been spying on me Mr. Luthor?" he asked almost playfully.  
  
"I have mysteries," Lex replied. "I'm the sort who jumps ahead to the last page."  
  
"See, that's one way we're different, Lex. I love a mystery, as long as I can solve it."  
  
Lex laughed and sipped at his drink. "I'm sorry if you're upset, and I apologize for the intrusion."  
  
"No you're not," Bruce laughed again. For some reason, that laugh was really starting to bother him.  
  
"You're right, I'm not," he said testily, then regained his composure. "I was actually pleasantly surprised at the results. I think I'd written you off as just another big money partier, I had no idea you could actually apply yourself."  
  
"Well," Bruce smiled, sliding off the desk, "you'd be the expert on that wouldn't you? Didn't you used to run in similar circles? A genius in the classroom, but no motivation to ever go further with your studies? Big parties, fast women, cars, money, even a bit of the stuff the tabloids love? Bomb the final, just to spite your old man? Wasn't that your M.O.? Get transferred again, improve for a while, let him think you're finally ready to turn your life around, and then get kicked out for knocking up the Headmaster's daughter?"  
  
"Touché," Lex said quietly. "But I guess I deserved that." He picked up his latte and took another sip. "Can I get you anything?"  
  
"V8 if you have it," Bruce shrugged. Lex picked up the phone and relayed the order downstairs to the kitchen. "So, when are you going to show me around this illustrious Crap Factory of yours?"  
  
"Be careful what you call this place," Lex warned him, "I've actually grown quite fond of it." Bruce looked surprised again and gave the office another look.  
  
"I don't see the Prozac jar, so where are you hiding it?" Lex laughed and shook his head.  
  
"I'm serious. This place has taught me a lot; how to manage a business, how to take a dubious product like this and turn it into a strong seller, and how to pick up the pieces of a company in shambles. In the last two years I've been here, I've turned this place around."  
  
"I know," Bruce said easily, walking to the sidewall and glancing at the bookshelf. "I picked up your PR fliers on the way in, then I slammed five hundred dollars down in the palm of one of your cronies and asked him how things were really going. He was surprisingly truthful for so little."  
  
"Now why would you do something like that?" Lex asked him.  
  
"Satisfying my curiosity," Bruce replied, still scanning the titles. "Philosophers, Conquerors, CEO memoirs, Historical texts," he read, going down the shelf. "No comics," he sighed, shaking his head. "You poor, sad man."  
  
"My father raised me on those," Lex said.  
  
"Comics?"  
  
"No," he stated, "on the diaries of the great men of the past. Of course he never read them to me, just threw them at me every birthday and Christmas. I don't think he ever expected me to read them though. I know he's regretting them now. All that knowledge, he should have kept it to himself. Now I'm almost good enough for him to call me an equal, and you have no idea how much that scares him."  
  
"We reap what we sow," Bruce said philosophically. Lex frowned as he caught the double meaning and glance at him, but Bruce was paging through one of the books quietly. "I read this one actually," Bruce said. "The Prince."  
  
"Ahh," Lex smiled, "everything you would ever need to know if you have to rule over people."  
  
"You ever think about that?" Bruce asked him with a grin.  
  
"Me? Rule over people?" Lex shook his head and put his drink down. "I wouldn't mind being President someday, but that's the extent of my ambitions."  
  
"Lofty extent there," Bruce said putting the book back. "So tell me. What's really been keeping you here? You could run this company from anywhere in there world, why stay in Smallville?" The door opened and a maid stepped in, carrying a tray with a V8 on it. Bruce smiled widely at her and took it. He winked at her as she glanced down to find a folded bill on it where the drink had been. She smiled back and left the room quickly. Lex watched, amused, as Bruce sprawled down in a chair and twisted open the bottle.  
  
"You might find it hard to believe," he said quietly, "but I have friends here."  
  
"Please," Bruce said, "I've got friends I've never even met, Lex. Every time I walk into a nightclub, everyone's my friend. Hell, I can name ten people who hate my guts, but they'd still fly five hundred miles if I gave them a call. What can the people here offer you that they can't?"  
  
"Real, honest friendship." Bruce stared at him, surprise openly etched on his face.  
  
"You're being serious, aren't you?" he asked. "Wow. Where'd you find that?" he asked after a moment.  
  
"I had an accident on the road a few months back," Lex told him. "I ran off the side of a bridge and into a river. The doctors told me my heart had stopped on impact with the water, but then someone pulled me back. Pulled me out of the water and revived me. Saved my life."  
  
"Who was your good Samaritan?"  
  
"High school kid by the name of Clark Kent. He's really a nice guy, honest, dependable, as well as being a lifesaver. In all the time I've known him, he's never once tried to cash in on it either. You have no idea how much that puzzled me at first; I kept pushing gifts and money on him, but he just turned them all down. I couldn't understand it and kept throwing more money at him, but he just wouldn't take it. It's amazing really; I think he's the first real friend I've ever had."  
  
"Hmph," Bruce said, taking a drink. "I'd like to meet him."  
  
"Maybe you will," Lex said. "I was planning on showing you around town today, after we tour the 'Crap Factory' as you called it. But before that," he said quietly, deciding something, "I was going to take you up on your offer."  
  
Bruce stared at him, confused. "What offer might that be?" he asked him slowly.  
  
"When you complained that you didn't have a job. How would you like one?"  
  
Bruce stared for a moment and then laughed so hard he almost lost his grip on the bottle. "Now I know you're not serious."  
  
"I'm always serious in business," Lex told him. Bruce stopped laughing and stared at him again.  
  
"You want me, to work for you," he repeated.  
  
"Of course not," Lex said quickly, "I pictured it more as a partnership in this company. You buy a healthy share of the stock and I'll teach you how to run a business. It wouldn't be that hard."  
  
"And what do you get in return?"  
  
"See, you're already catching on," Lex praised him. "I need money, Bruce."  
  
"There's something I never thought I'd hear you say."  
  
"I'm not joking, Bruce. The company money is entirely my father's, and recently he's taken offense at how successful I've become down here. He's looking for ways to make me fail, and it's only a matter of time before he cuts off some, if not all, of my funding. I have what's left of my mother's stock and inheritance, but it's no where near enough what I need. With a separate capital source like yours, that he can't touch, I'd, we'd be able to really turn this place around. You can't imagine some of the plans I have in store for this town."  
  
"I don't know," Bruce said slowly. "This is very sudden, and it goes against my first Commandment, you know. 'Thou shalt not sully thy hands with work'. But," he said slowly, "it is a tempting offer. I've been thinking of using my money for something other than party favors and bail bonds. It might be fun."  
  
"Take your time to think it over," Lex said. "In the meantime, why don't we get to that tour and I can show you what you might be helping to run." 


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6  
  
It was early the next day when Clark ran into town to meet Chloe and Pete at the Beanery. One of the few benefits about his abilities was his incredible speed, which made the five mile trip into town much easier without borrowing his dad's car. Clark loved to run; letting himself go and feeling the wind get left behind him. He'd pass cars on the roads; swift blurs of color to him. People would stop and listen, feeling the force of his passing and perhaps think he was nothing more than a strong breeze. He loved it; the freedom he found in using his powers sometimes. Sometimes it felt that he could run so fast he would leave the world behind him one of these days, and he would look down, and there would be nothing underneath his feet but blue skies and clouds. But that was never going to happen, he always realized, coming back down to earth. He'd never be that free of it all..  
  
Clark slowed down inside a field close to town. It was a gradual process, once he'd come to a dead stop and the sheer force of the wind behind him had kicked up a minor tornado. While the dust settled, Clark walked out of the field and past the car dealership. All around him, Smallville shopkeepers were sweeping off their sidewalks and hanging signs in windows. Not many people were on the street. Clark walked past the Talon and glanced in quickly to see if Lana was there. The building was dark though and so, disappointed, he went on to the Beanery.  
  
The Beanery was surprisingly full for a Sunday morning. People were gathered around newspapers, eating bagels and muffins, while sipping away at coffees and the like. In their usual seat by the window, Chloe and Pete waved him over. "Hey guys," Clark said sitting down, "what's with all the business today? Normally it's dead here about this time."  
  
"I guess everyone wants to talk about the news last night," Pete said, taking a bite out of a doughnut. "Wahant tu till ussabot et?" he mumbled through a mouthful.  
  
"Nice," Chloe said. Clark laughed as Pete took a quick drink of coffee and swallowed.  
  
"I said, 'Want to tell us about it?'" he repeated.  
  
Clark looked at him, confused and then shrugged. "What do you mean? What happened?"  
  
"You don't know?" Chloe asked him. "I thought that it was you. I mean for someone who insists there's nothing weird going on in this town, you seem to be in the middle of it every time," Chloe pointed out, her eyes narrowing. "Especially when it deals with Lana."  
  
Getting nervous, Clark tried to laugh it off. Chloe Sullivan was not the person he wanted getting curious about his life. She'd already come dangerously close to his secret in the past, but he'd always managed to put her off the track before. He didn't want to get her started again, especially when he hadn't even done anything. "I don't know what you're talking about. After the circus, I had to help my dad fix the tractor until practically midnight. Now what is this about Lana?"  
  
Chloe and Pete looked at each other, and then Pete started to explain. "Lana surprised two guys trying to break into her car last night."  
  
"What!" Clark yelled, making everyone in the Beanery turn around and stare. Continuing much lower, he asked quickly, "Is she alright? What happened?"  
  
"She's alright," Chloe assured him. "Before they could grab her, someone arrived on the scene and saved her. She said that he beat the first one up without even breaking a sweat."  
  
"Then he followed the other one all the way across town and nailed him too," Pete said excitedly. "Can you believe that? He's like, a hero or something."  
  
"Yeah," Clark said slowly, "I guess you're right."  
  
"The best part is," Chloe, said, "Lana didn't even get his name. He's a mystery; everyone wants to know who this guy is. Can you imagine the kind of story I'd get if I could interview him? I mean, it could be the front page of the Inquisitor, or even the Daily Planet," Chloe said, here eyes going wide as she imagined it.  
  
"Uh, earth to Chloe," Clark said, trying to her attention. "The reason he's a mystery is because no one knows who he is. How are you supposed to find him?"  
  
"Forget it Clark," Pete laughed. "She's off in Chloe Sullivan, ace reporter, lala land. Remember when she was seven and she tried to stay up all night to get an interview with Santa Claus?" Chloe gave him a look filled with daggers and Pete flinched back, pretending to protect his head with his arms. "Mercy, mercy," he pleaded as Clark laughed at both of them. "C'mon, Chloe," Pete said, "you don't expect him to just walk into the Beanery and sit down next to you, do you?"  
  
"I take it you're talking about our mysterious hero," someone said behind them. Clark turned around to see Lex with another young man who looked oddly familiar. "I was just saying that this was just what Smallville needed, a guardian angel. Mind if we join you?" he asked.  
  
"Sure," Chloe said and scouted over next to Pete. Lex sat down next to Clark and after a moment's pause, his friend sat down next to Pete. Clark stared at him, trying to think where he'd seen him before.  
  
"I'd like to introduce you to. an old friend," Lex said to everyone. "Bruce, this is Pete Ross and Chloe Sullivan, you local paranormal enthusiast and investigative reporter. I'm sure you know the type." Bruce smiled one-sidedly and rolled his eyes.  
  
"Oh yes," he agreed, his voice a pleasant baritone. "Sometime it seems like they're living in the trunk of my car. I can't so much roll it over without a swarm of them asking me what I was on." Chloe went red around her ears and busied herself taking a sip of coffee.  
  
"Funny you should mention car accidents," Lex said quietly. "Here's the guy I was telling you about back at the house. Bruce, meet Clark Kent. Clark meet Bruce Wayne," he said.  
  
Clark put his hand out and Bruce took it, giving him a bored shake. Before he let go though, Clark suddenly remembered where he knew Bruce. "Tom?" he said, stunned. Bruce looked pained and let go of his hand. Lex smiled and rubbed his scalp quietly. "You're Tom, from the circus aren't you?" Clark asked. Chloe and Pete stared at him, and then they lit up.  
  
"Oh yeah," Pete said, "We saw your show. You were great."  
  
"Wait a minute," Chloe said. "Bruce Wayne? You're really Bruce Wayne, from Gotham?"  
  
"What do you mean?" Clark asked her.  
  
"Oh, you're such a lump!" she said and slouched down in her seat, staring at Bruce. "You don't know who Bruce Wayne is?"  
  
"He's the guy getting swiftly embarrassed in front of you," Bruce said quietly and shook his head.  
  
"Don't sell yourself short, Bruce," Lex joked. "I certainly wouldn't. You practically own half of Gotham; in fact, you're almost as rich as me."  
  
"True," Bruce admitted, "but I don't have that nifty Lexcorp logo backing me up. All my money's just wasting away; piling up interest. I swear, I couldn't burn through it with a flamethrower."  
  
"I can't imagine," Pete said slowly. "If you're so rich, why are you working in a circus?"  
  
"That's the question of the hour, isn't it Bruce?" Lex commented. "I don't think you ever gave me a straight answer either."  
  
"It's not that complicated, Lex," Bruce laughed. "School's fun, but I just got bored of it after my fifth try. So I decided to take a break and do something I'd always wanted to do since I was a kid; run off to the circus. I loaf around mostly, do odd jobs and help out with some of the acts. It's not too bad, but they expect you to work a lot. To tell you the truth, I think I'm getting pretty sick of it. I might just be in the mood for a change."  
  
"Well," Lex laughed, "I'm glad I made you that offer then. But if you're looking for excitement, you came to the wrong place."  
  
"I don't know about that," Clark said. "I'm finding it more and more interesting here everyday."  
  
"Ah, see," Chloe, said, "if Clark Kent's finds things interesting, you know something's really in the air."  
  
"C'mon, Chloe," Clark said, rolling his eyes. "Am I really that bad?"  
  
"You have to ask?" she said, staring at him. "Every time I warn everyone that something's up, you're the first one to try and find a rational explanation for things. A little trust in your friend wouldn't hurt, you know. Besides, I don't know how you can ignore all the strange stuff that happens around here."  
  
"Now when have I not trusted you?" Clark asked. Chloe's comment had landed a little close to home. He didn't trust his friends with his greatest secrets, not yet at least. "And the strange stuff, yeah sure, some things happen, but not that much."  
  
"Oh really? Let me count the ways," she said and started to tick them off on her fingers. "We have our local, but not so average, Smallville High students and faculty, ranging from Bug boy, the coach who tried to mentally barbeque me, Sasha's little bid to be queen bee, Sean 'Ice Boy' Devlin, and then my personal favorite, my telekinetic, psychotic, ex-boyfriend. Then we have all the weirdness around town; that weird flower that made Pete shoot Lex, that salesman guy who made me kiss you, and let's not forget that FUN time I was kidnapped and buried alive, huh?"  
  
"You shot Lex?" Bruce looked at Pete.  
  
"It wasn't my fault," Pete said at once.  
  
"It's a long story," Lex admitted.  
  
"I feel like I'm missing something here," Bruce said dryly. "You get some interesting people around these parts?"  
  
"It's not the people," Pete said, "it's just that things seem to happen here." Clark nodded and stared down at his muffin. No one else but his parent's knew that his arrival had also brought the meteor rocks that had changed Smallville forever. They didn't know if it was radiation or some strange property of the rocks, but they seemed to alter anything they touched, and never for the best. If that wasn't enough, they had a deadly effect on Clark. Simply being near one of the stones, no matter how small, weakened him severely. Clark had always felt responsible for all the misfortune that he'd brought to this town, and had vowed to use his abilities to help it.  
  
"Things happen here?" Bruce asked, lifting an eyebrow. "Hmph," he said cryptically and looked off in the distance. Clark glanced at him, and noticed something. Bruce was sitting bent over, relaxed and slouched over comfortably, but when he'd been at the circus, he'd been all business, tense and able. He didn't even look that big now, he though, sitting down hunched over.  
  
Suddenly Lex's phone went off and he snatched it off his belt quickly. "Sorry, I'm expecting this," he apologized to everyone. He bent over in the aisle and started to speak in low tones. Bruce hummed to himself and towed with a spoon on the table. Chloe and Pete both sipped their coffee and waited patiently. Clark listened to Lex on the phone, not because he was really interested, but because his hearing was so sharp he couldn't help but not hear.  
  
"You've installed all the new gear?" Lex asked quietly.  
  
"Yes," a woman's voice answered, sleek and sure. "Everything's been set up for the research teams to start."  
  
"You're sure Cadmus labs we'll be up to speed in the next few weeks?"  
  
"Positive, but you're father is sure to note all the expenditures."  
  
"I might have found a way around that," Lex said. "I'll be back in a few minutes to take care of a few things. Get everything up and running and then start up on the testing we talked about. I'll expect a status report tomorrow." Clark tried to think where he'd heard the name Cadmus before when he heard another voice by the entrance. A very familiar female voice.  
  
Clark looked up quickly as Lana Lang talked with a waitress near the door. All his senses, superhuman or not, seemed to be both dulled and sharpened whenever she came near him. Lana lived only a mile from the Kents, but lived much closer to Clark's heart. She was his first and only crush; the girl he couldn't get out of his head. He wished one day he could run his fingers through her long, raven colored hair and stare into her almond shaped eyes forever. When he was around her, any amount of time seemed like forever.  
  
"Sorry guys," Clark said and climbed out of seat. Chloe and Pete smiled knowingly at each other while Bruce stared blankly at him. Lex moved out into the aisle, still talking intently on the phone. Clark walked over to where Lana was standing, trying to think of what to say. Can't sound like a dork, he told himself. Can't sound like a dork. Can't sound like a dork.  
  
"Lana, are you all right?" he asked her quickly. She blinked at him while her friend started to laugh behind a menu. Swift, he told himself and tried again. "I mean, I heard about what happened and I was worried."  
  
"Thanks, Clark," she said, smiling at him kindly. "I don't know what to think. I was walking to my car when I saw those two guys, and then one of them had a knife and I honestly thought I was going to die. And then, out of nowhere, this guy shows up, saves me, and disappears into thin air. Can you imagine how you'd feel if that happened?"  
  
"Oh, I don't know," Clark said, a little nonplussed. Someone touched his shoulder and Clark turned around to see Lex.  
  
"Sorry, but we've got to get going," he said. "Something came up at the plant and I'm needed. I'm just going to drop Bruce off at the circus on the way back. Oh Lana," he said, noticing her, "I heard about your little adventure last night. I'm a little surprised it wasn't Clark there to help you." Lana didn't answer him; she was staring past his shoulders to Bruce, her eyes wide open in shock. Bruce smiled back at her and winked. Clark looked back and forth from Lana to Bruce, wondering what was going on. Lex didn't notice Lana staring and walked past her. Bruce nodded to Lana and followed him out.  
  
"Lana," Clark said, "you're scaring me." She stared out the window as the two walked to Lex's Porsche. "Lana?" Clark said again, louder. He snapped his fingers in front of her eyes and she blinked suddenly. "Are you still with us?"  
  
"Who was that with Lex?" Lana demanded, grabbing Clark's arm tightly. Now it was his turn to stare. "Do you know his name? Who was he?"  
  
"That was his friend, Bruce Wayne," Clark said slowly.  
  
"Oh my god," Lana breathed, letting go of his arm and covering her mouth. "Bruce Wayne, from Gotham?"  
  
"Why does everyone know him?" Clark asked irritably.  
  
"God, he's even more handsome in daylight," Lana murmured, making Clark jump. "I mean," she said, catching herself, "he looks different." Clark stared at her dumbly. She grabbed his arm again and said excitedly, "He's the one from last night; the one who rescued me. And he's staying here in Smallville? Can you introduce me to him? Well, we've met before, but you know what I mean. How do you know him? Could you get him to call me or something?" she asked him eagerly.  
  
Clark stared out the window, truly and deeply hating Bruce Wayne. 


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7  
  
"I just think he's up to something," Clark complained to his parents that night at dinner. "He's rich, he doesn't need to be hunting down car thieves in the middle of the night. And why is he hiding in a circus? I think he's got a secret."  
  
"And you would be the expert on that," Jonathon Kent remarked, passing Martha the potatoes.  
  
"Clark, honey," she said, "maybe he just doesn't want to be noticed."  
  
"No," he shook his head; "if you'd seen him at the Beanery you wouldn't have thought so." He picked at his plate. "All he could do was complain about how much money he had and how it was so much of a chore. You know he said he flunked out of five colleges?"  
  
"Well," Jonathon said, "some people are like that. Some people just don't know how to handle money."  
  
Martha nodded with him. "I still don't understand how I didn't recognize him at the circus," she wondered. "I've seen his picture in People and I." she stopped when she noticed Clark staring at her. "What? What's wrong?"  
  
"Not you too," Clark moaned.  
  
"You're mother's magazines aside," Jonathon said, "I think what's really upsetting you is that he's getting so much more attention from certain people than you are."  
  
"No, I just know he's got something to hide," Clark said quickly. "Why does he need to be jumping around buildings at night? And saving people. Saving Lana."  
  
"'Cause that's your job," Martha said and smiled at Jonathon.  
  
"You're not helping here," Clark said.  
  
There was a knocking at the door and Clark got up to see who it was. He peaked through the screen and was startled to see Lana standing outside. He opened it quickly and let her in. "Lana, what are you doing here? Come in."  
  
"Sorry for coming around so late," she said, stepping inside. She looked nervous and flushed about something. Clark's parents walked in from the kitchen, surprised to see her.  
  
"Oh, hello, Lana," Martha smiled at her.  
  
"Don't usually see you around here at this time," Jonathon said.  
  
Lana went red and mumbled, "Yeah, I'm sorry about this. Can I speak to Clark alone, please?" Clark's parents looked at each other and then glanced at Clark. He spread his arms, just as confused as they were. "It won't be long," Lana promised.  
  
"Sure, I guess so," Martha said slowly. She and Jonathon walked back to the kitchen leaving the two of them alone.  
  
"So," Clark said, "what's on your mind?"  
  
"I need you to drive me out to the circus," Lana said quickly. She grabbed his arm, tugging it. "Please, you're the closet person to me with a car. I really need your help here."  
  
"What? You need me to do this?"  
  
"Nell got freaked and won't let me drive anywhere by myself and I'd die if I had to ask her."  
  
"What do you need to do at the circus?" Clark asked, already guessing the answer.  
  
"I need to see Bruce and." Lana stammered, "thank him for saving me. I didn't get to say anything to him."  
  
Clark could only close his eyes in disbelief. How many times had he saved Lana, he asked himself, and this rich snot shows up once and. He stopped, trying to regain his composure. He opened his eyes and tried to put on a good face. "I don't know," he said, "it's kinda late."  
  
"Please," she said, touching his arm lightly. "The circus won't perform for another week and there's no other way for me to see him." She looked up at him pleadingly. Clark opened his mouth to say no, but somehow he couldn't quite get it out. He wavered for a moment, and then gave in.  
  
"Alright," he sighed, "I'll take you."  
  
"Thank you so much," she said. "I'll make it up to you, I promise." Clark nodded glumly and snagged the truck's keys off the counter. He mumbled an explanation to his parents as Lana followed him back outside. "Seriously, Clark, you're my hero," Lana gushed.  
  
"For how long?" Clark muttered as he climbed into the truck with her.  
  
The drive to the circus grounds took them about twenty minutes and the entire time; Lana relayed to him every detail of what had happened to her the night before. He heard about how fast Bruce had moved, how quickly he'd beaten back the thug, how brave he'd been to take on a man with a knife. It was enough to make him want to drive into a tree to keep from getting there.  
  
"Did you ever wonder why he might have been there?" Clark asked her finally. "What someone like him was doing in the middle of the night in an alley?"  
  
"Hey," Lana said, "he saved my life. I'm not going to ask him what he was doing there, I'm just thankful he was."  
  
"I guess so," Clark muttered. He pulled up towards the back of the circus near a large row of campers and trailers. "Hey, what's this?" he asked staring at a police car that was parked nearby.  
  
"Maybe something happened?" Lana said and leaned her head out the window. "I don't see anything wrong though."  
  
Clark parked the car and climbed out. He spotted a pair of police officers talking to another man by a large trailer. The man was had on a pair of dirty jeans and a stained undershirt. A crude bandage was stretched across his nose and he touched it gingerly as he talked. Clark could only pick up a bit of what they were saying, but the man was not happy, gesturing to the cops and yelling at them. The police didn't seem that upset, calmly taking down notes and only speaking occasionally.  
  
"Do you know where Bruce might be?" Lana asked, coming up behind him.  
  
"I think I might know," Clark said. He started down the line of trailers, looking for the escape artist and his daughter. If Bruce were living here, they'd be the ones to know. As they walked by the trailers, Clark was a little surprised to see so many of the performers in the same state as the man before. People loitered outside their trailers, covered in dirt and sweat, talking nervously to each other in small groups. They eyed the two teenagers warily, but no one stopped them. Finally, Clark spotted a familiar girl leaning back against a trailer. To confirm it, Clark yelled, "Gail?" to her. She looked up and frowned at him, trying to place him. Clark waved Lana on as he hurried towards her.  
  
As they came near her, Clark could see that Gail was similarly filthy. Her short black hair was streaked with dirt and leaves and her clothes were a mess of mud. "Who are you?" she asked, her voice suspicious and obviously tired at the same time. The screen door opened and her father came out with two drinks.  
  
"What's this about?" he asked his daughter.  
  
"Sorry to bother you, but you're the escape artist, right?" Clark asked her father.  
  
"Yes, yes I am. The name's Bernard Mellivicent, what can I do for you?"  
  
"We were just wondering-" Clark started when Lana cut in.  
  
"We were just wondering where Bruce Wayne was," she said quickly. Gail blanched from where she was sitting and looked towards her father.  
  
"And what would you want with Tom?" he asked Lana quietly. Gail stared at her father in astonishment.  
  
"Hold on," she said with force. "Do you mean to tell me you knew that Tom was Bruce Wayne?" she asked her father.  
  
Bernard nodded. "Don't you think that I'd know everything about the person I was going to train?"  
  
"But why didn't you tell me?"  
  
He shrugged and started to say something when Bruce's voice came from the trailer. "Because I asked him not to," he said, stepping down from the doorway. Lana turned pink and took a step back behind Clark. Unlike the others, Bruce wasn't filthy. He had on a clean pair of black jeans and dark blue, long sleeve shirt. His hair was wet though, so Clark guessed he'd just showered. Bruce stared at Lana, making her take another step back, and then he turned his gaze to Clark. It was startling, but Clark could almost feel his stare bore into him. "What do you want?" Bruce said finally.  
  
Lana took a deep breath and stepped forwards. Bruce looked at her again and she almost jumped back, but she steeled herself and spoke. "I just wanted. to thank you. For saving my life," she explained in a rush. "I didn't get to last night, and then I saw you in town, but you left before I could say anything."  
  
"Oh," Bruce said simply. He pursed his lips for a second and then shrugged. "You're welcome." Lana blinked and gaped at him, her mouth partway open. Bernard and Gail looked at each other, wondering what was going on. There was an awkward silence that seemed to fill up the moment.  
  
"Uh," Clark said, "so what happened here? Why the police?"  
  
Bernard looked pained and didn't answer immediately. He handed a drink to Gail and sat down beside her. "One of our friends went missing. A young boy about your age, his name's Richie Telebaum, he's the manager's son. He's really more like family to us. Everyone in a circus is like family really." Gail rested her head on his shoulder and Bernard gave her a weak smile. Bruce stood still and said nothing.  
  
"He's always been a troubled boy," Bernard said slowly. "Always getting into fights with his father about something or another. Well, finally, they had a big one, and he ran out into the woods last night. His father figured he'd come home when he got hungry, but when he didn't, we all decided to go looking for him."  
  
"He didn't bother to tell anyone until almost six," Gail said bitterly. "He and Ritchie have never really gotten along. They hate each other. I don't think he's really hoping for him to show up at all."  
  
"That's terrible," Lana said. Clark nodded in agreement.  
  
"Yes," Bernard said, "we're all praying he comes back alive."  
  
"At least the police are going to start looking for him now," Clark offered. Bernard nodded again and sipped at his drink. "I wish there was something we could do."  
  
"Sun's starting to go down, you'd never find him in the dark," Bernard shook his head. "All we can do is get some rest and try again at first light."  
  
"Speaking of sundown," Bruce spoke up, "I've got to get going." Gail stared incredulously at him, but her father didn't seem to bat an eye. He sighed and looked down, taking another sip of his drink.  
  
"Don't you care that Richie is out there somewhere?" Gail demanded, getting up and walking towards him.  
  
"Of course I do," Bruce said. "But there's nothing I can do for him now though. I'll help search again at dawn, but before that, there's something I have to take care of."  
  
"Is it really that much more important than this?" Bernard asked him.  
  
"We can't search in the dark. We'd wind up just as lost as he is."  
  
"I wasn't talking about searching again," he said. "We're all upset right now, I was hoping we could spend a night together, be there for each other."  
  
There was silence for a moment as Bruce just stood there, looking at him. For a moment, he looked a little puzzled and then his face slipped back into that stern mask. "Why?" he shrugged coldly. Lana looked as startled as Gail now as Bruce stood there waiting.  
  
Bernard seemed more disappointed than surprised with Bruce's dismissal. He waved his hands in defeat. "Fine, fine, do whatever you think you have to. It's all you've ever done before," he sighed.  
  
Bruce nodded and then started away. "Excuse me," he said, walking past Clark and Lana. Lana stared as he went her mouth open trying to say something. Bruce hurried away though, going towards a small cluster of cars parked by the rear of the circus. As they watched, he got into a compact car with a rental plate and drove off towards town.  
  
When his car disappeared from view, Lana spun around angrily, her hands on her hips. "Is he like that all the time?" she hissed at Gail.  
  
"No," Gail laughed sarcastically, "sometimes he's even worse. I swear you'd get more compassion out of a hunk of rock."  
  
"Don't mind my daughter," Bernard remarked, "she had to learn the hard way that what you see on the outside is not what you get." Gail made a face and looked away. "You see," Bernard explained, "Bruce, or Tom, is many things, but a people person he's not. It's not that he doesn't care about how people feel, it's just that he doesn't allow himself to feel anything, so he doesn't know how to relate."  
  
"Does he do that often?" Clark asked, looking back down the road to town. "Leave at night, I mean, and not tell anyone where he's going."  
  
"Practically every night we're in town," Gail said. "Even when we're on the road, he barely sleeps. I guess he's a night person."  
  
"Well, I hate to send you on your way," Bernard said, rising to his feet, "but my old bones are not looking forward to spending another day in the woods, so I really want to lie down for the night. Goodnight and have a safe trip back." Gail nodded and helped her dad into the trailer. Clark and Lana waved and started back to the car. Lana was shaking her head and fuming, still upset over what had happened. Clark stared again at the road and thought quickly.  
  
"Lana," Clark asked, "can I chip in that favor you owe me now?"  
  
"Of course," Lana said slowly. "But what do you want out here?"  
  
"I'm gonna call Chloe, she'd love to have this story in her paper. If you could drive the car back, I'll wait here for her and she can drive me home."  
  
Lana blinked and stared around her. "Are you sure?" she asked. "It's getting pretty dark. Can't you wait until morning?"  
  
"You know Chloe," Clark said lamely, hating himself for lying to her. "She loves to get the quotes right away."  
  
"Okay," Lana said slowly as he handed her the keys. "I'll tell your parents where you are," she offered.  
  
"Thanks, and tell them not to worry. I'll probably be home in an hour or so," he said. Lana waved and walked back to the truck. Clark watched her pull out and waved her off. When she was out of sight, he quickly glanced to make sure that no one was watching, and then he took off down the road, passing Lana in an instant. Running as fast as he was, there was no chance that she could've spotted him though. The only sign of his passing was a gust of wind and dirt against the car.  
  
Clark's gamble worked and in a few seconds he saw the taillights to Bruce's car up ahead. Keeping a safe distance back and sticking to the shadows, Clark tailed the car down the country road. After a few minutes, the stupidity of what he was doing set in. What was he following Bruce's car for anyway? He hadn't done anything wrong, not yet at least, he told himself. He was probably just going back into town; if he was guilty of anything it was most likely boredom. Still, there was something about Bruce Wayne that he didn't trust. Little nagging questions that kept floating through his mind. Nothing made sense about him, not his spoiled, rich boy act at the Beanery, and not the cold personality he'd greeted them with back at the circus. Somehow, he knew if he just followed Bruce for long enough, he'd find out what he wanted to know.  
  
Bruce's car turned off the main road and headed down another back road that lead to the old corn factory. Clark felt something icy in the bottom of his stomach as he followed him. When Bruce turned his lights out, Clark's feeling got even worse. Bruce drove to the factory and then pulled into the parking lot. He circled the lot, looking for something, and then drove slowly behind the factory, to the loading ramps. Clark kept to the edge of the fields surrounding the factory and followed him.  
  
Parked behind the factory were a large semi and a pair of men waiting by a black Mustang. They yelled into the semi and stepped out towards Bruce's car. Clark crept closer so he could hear what they were saying.  
  
"Hey, Johnny," one yelled, waving a cell phone at the car "that's not the car that we told you to bring! What, you forget and steal something else?" The other man laughed and leaned back against the parked car, arms folded. They both seemed relaxed until Bruce parked the car and stepped out.  
  
"Who the hell are you?" the one with the cell phone demanded. Bruce ignored him and walked towards them slowly, his hands behind his back.  
  
The other man warned him, "Stay back!" as he pulled out a gun. Clark's eyes went wide from where he was hidden. Just what had Bruce walked into? First it looked like they were expecting him, and now they're ready to kill him! He had to move fast and disarm him before he could- but then Bruce shocked Clark once again. He ducked and spun, pulling something out from behind him. He whipped his arm around and the thug dropped his gun and howled. A throwing star was imbedded in his palm, oozing blood. The other man stepped back, going pale. Bruce continued forward calmly. When he passed by the injured man, he only paused long enough to backhand him. The criminal fell over with a grunt, still clutching his injured hand. Bruce turned back to the first man and smiled.  
  
"Its amazing the things you'll find out if you lean on someone a little," Bruce said. His voice was no longer bored or just cold, now it was a low, gravely thing that sent a chill up Clark's spine. "I met your friend Johnny last night, and after a little persuasion, he told me where he was supposed to drive the stolen car to. I have to admit, it's a nice operation you have here. You steal only a few cars from every town and then transport them to Metropolis or somewhere else to gut. No one pays that much attention to small towns, and since it didn't happen in the city, the cops there won't know to look for them."  
  
"Yeah, too bad you won't tell anyone about it," the man yelled back and went for his gun. In a move that even Clark had trouble seeing, Bruce sent another star flying inches past the man's ear.  
  
With three more stars between his fingers, Bruce waited. "Try it," he said simply. "Please." The man stared at him and dropped the gun. "Good call," Bruce said and ran towards him. The man started, looking down at his gun, back up at Bruce, and then back down again. By the time he reached for the gun, it was already too late. Bruce kicked him in the stomach and then pivoted and kicked him again across the face. The man went flying, coming down face first on the pavement. Bruce walked over and prodded the man's face with his foot, turning it over to the side so he could see him. Then he stepped firmly down on the man's head and started speaking. Clark moved even closer out to listen in.  
  
"I'm not letting you walk," Bruce was saying, "you're guilty and you're going to jail, understand me? What I am offering you is that you can go to jail tonight, or you can go to the hospital for six months and then jail. So tell me what I want to know or else you end up in traction."  
  
"What other towns have you been hitting?" he asked him quietly. "Who's in charge of this operation? And who does he work for?"  
  
"Screw you," the man muttered, his face scrunched together by Bruce's boot.  
  
Bruce shrugged and lifted his boot off the man's face long enough to drive the heel of it into his right arm. The sound of the bone snapping was like lightening in Clark's ears. The man shrieked once before Bruce put his foot back down on his face. "Don't think I'll get squeamish and call this off, I'm having too much fun," Bruce said quietly.  
  
"Stop it," Clark called, stepping out from the shadows. Bruce's head whipped up towards him, and Clark felt that powerful stare hit him again. "You can't do this to him," he yelled.  
  
Bruce stepped away from the man towards Clark. "Just what are you doing here?" he asked him quietly. Behind him, the man started to pick himself up, cradling his arm gingerly.  
  
"I followed you," Clark said quickly, "but that's not important."  
  
"'Followed me?'" Bruce repeated, staring at Clark. "I don't think so." He spun around and kicked the man across the jaw again. He collapsed in a head and this time didn't move. Clark started towards him, when Bruce turned around and smiled one-sided at him. "I would've known if a car had been following me, I've been trained to notice that sort of thing. I think you knew where I was going," he said quietly. He started to circle Clark, sizing him up.  
  
Clark clenched his fists and waited, watching Bruce. "How would I have known that?" he asked him angrily.  
  
"I figured that someone was acting as a spotter for these guys. None of them are local, so they needed someone to point out the better cars and where they'd be," Bruce explained. "Didn't figure you for it." He stopped circling Clark, coming around in front of the semi. "It was a big mistake to get involved in something like this."  
  
"I'm not," Clark, stated, "I got suspicious when you left the circus and followed you here. That's all."  
  
"What, followed me on foot?" Bruce asked. "I would've seen a car." Clark started to say something when he heard the unmistakable sound of gun cocking. From the open body of the semi, another man stepped out aiming an automatic weapon at the two. Bruce spun around, another star appearing in his hand, but he wasn't fast enough and the man started to fire.  
  
Clark sprinted forward, straining as the bullets rushed towards Bruce. Regardless of how he felt, he had to save him. Clark shoved him aside and threw himself in the way of the bullets. He felt the stream of hot metal hit his chest and flatten out on impact. It was like a strong punch every time. The man fired until his gun emptied, cursing loudly. Clark dropped to his knees, trying to breath again. From where he lay, Bruce sprang into action, dashing towards the semi. He was fast, clearing the twenty yards as the man dug another clip out of his jacket. Just as he was shoving it into place, Bruce reached him and in an amazing feat of acrobatics, flipped into the truck and knocked the man's legs out from under him. Clark watched from the parking lot, trying to make his bruised chest unclench from around his lungs. Bruce snapped kicks and punches at the shooter like a kung fu master, but the man had apparently had a bit of martial arts training as well. He blocked and countered Bruce's attacks with one of his own, which Bruce dodged quickly. As the two fought in the cab, Clark stumbled to his feet, staggering towards them. Then behind him, he heard the sound of a car engine rumble to life.  
  
Clark turned to see the first man, the one whose hand Bruce had ventilated earlier, bent over the wheel of the Mustang. He gunned the engine again and tore off, the car aimed directly at Clark. For a second, Clark thought he was trying to get away, but he didn't swerve. He kept coming, faster and faster. He'd tried to help these guys and this was the thanks he got, Clark thought. Seething, Clark braced himself and put his hands out. The Mustang hit him going at least sixty miles per hour. The front bumper curled around his hands into an oval shape. The pavement under his feet buckled and cracked, but held. The driver wasn't so lucky. He went flying through the front window on impact and rolled several yards before coming to a stop. He moaned, but didn't move.  
  
Clark pushed the remains of the car away and caught his breath. Wiping motor oil and paint off his hands, he turned back to the semi to see Bruce dragging the unconscious shooter out of the semi. One of his cheeks was red and swollen and there was a slight cut across his left shoulder. Bruce stared at Clark, letting the shooter drop to the ground. He looked at the remains of the Mustang and the bullet holes in Clark's shirt. "What the hell are you?" he asked finally, wiping his arm across his forehead.  
  
Clark looked down at the unconscious man and around the parking lot, at the semi and the other two men on the ground. "What are you?" Clark countered finally. Bruce stared at him, his mouth twisting into a scowl.  
  
"First, you're going to help me clean this place up and then we're going to have a talk," he stated firmly. Clark blinked and then nodded. "I'll tie them up; you better push the mustang into a tree or something. You can do that, right?" Bruce asked.  
  
Clark nodded. "Yeah, I'm used to covering my tracks."  
  
"That makes two of us," Bruce said. 


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8  
  
Richie woke up in darkness. For a while, he stared blankly ahead, wondering if he'd opened his eyes or not. He couldn't see an inch in front of him, even after staring for several minutes. It was difficult to think, his mind seemed to be miles away, every thought drifting back to him so slowly. He couldn't feel anything, he realized, and for a moment, he wondered idly why that discovery seemed to bother him. Paralysis, he answered himself after a while. That was why he was worried. He had. fallen, yes, he had. He wondered idly if his neck was broken.  
  
To test it, Richie moved his arm slightly and heard it scrape against the hard ground. So he wasn't paralyzed, he thought, and wondered why that didn't make him feel any better. He moved his arm again, and noticed something odd. He could hear his arm move, but he couldn't feel it; it was like his sense of touch had been turned off. He curled his fingers and the same thing happened, he could sense that they were pressed together, but he couldn't feel them. They were stiff as well, he realized, his whole body felt stiff. Slowly, every joint seemingly unwilling to bend right, Richie sat up. He rested his hands on the ground and heard something shatter underneath them. Moving his hands around in the dark, hearing his fingers scraping against the ground, but not feeling them, Richie moved his hands blindly. Finally, his hand curled around something sticking out of the ground. Part of it cracked off in his hand, and he held it up. In the darkness he couldn't see it, so Richie shoved it deep into his pocket and slowly stood up.  
  
In total darkness, Richie should have been frightened out of his wits, but his mind was still too dulled to feel anything like that. He stumbled forward, one arm in front of him, until he came to a wall. Then he waited, wondering what he should do now. When nothing presented itself, he started walking forward, one hand on the wall to keep himself against it. He didn't know where it would lead him; it just felt better to keep walking. As he went, he tried to remember exactly what had happened to him.  
  
He remembered his father yelling, but that was no surprise. And a beating, nothing new either, but this time had been different, he recalled. This time, he honestly had thought his father capable to killing him. He stumbled against something in his path and kept going. He had run and fallen, and then. Richie stopped and blinked in the darkness. "Green," he whispered quietly. There had been pain and an awful green light, glowing ever brighter all around him. Richie started walking again, shuddering. He wondered if his father had caught up with him and killed him after all, and that this endless blackness was Hell.  
  
Lost in every sense of the word, Richie didn't notice the dull gleam ahead of him till it was all around him. He only noticed it when he realized that he could see his feet plodding slowly ahead. Richie's head snapped up, cracking audibly, and he stared into the dim light ahead. He was in a tunnel, he realized, looking around. There was a bend in the walls up ahead, and the light seemed to be coming from there. He rushed forwards, legs creaking in protest. As he turned the corner the light seemed to almost blind him and he held his arms over his eyes. Finally, when his eyes had adjusted from the total darkness, he stumbled forwards.  
  
The tunnel came to an end behind a thick tangle of hanging branches and undergrowth. It was so thick; he could barely see what was outside. The light he'd seen had filtered through, but that was probably the only traffic that came through here. Brushing at the plants, Richie tried to pull them aside, but as he did, they seemed to fall off on their own at his feet. He brushed his hands through them again and branches tumbled down in heaps. Not understanding and or caring, Richie literally cut his way through with his bare hands. In moments he was outside, standing in the middle of the forest. The full moon hung overhead, staring down at him like an uncaring observer.  
  
For a while, Richie didn't move, not believing that he was actually outside, and not still trapped in that horrible blackness. Breathing deeply, his lungs straining against his chest, he started to cry, but didn't know it. He couldn't feel his tears running over his skin. Richie sank to his knees and stared up at the moon, soaking in its light. He was alive, and he was free, he rejoiced.  
  
After a moment, he sighed and looked down at himself. His shirt was a mess; it was covered in dirt and grime, and there were great, gaping holes all over it. His pants were no better, torn, matted and filthy. He touched one of the holes in his shirt and blinked when his fingers stuck to it. He couldn't feel anything around it, he couldn't feel much of anything, but there was something wrong here. Staring down at himself, Richie noticed something odd. When he had put on his shirt this morning, it had been white. Now, even in the dim light of the moon, he could tell it wasn't. It was red, stained a dark, sticky red. Red. Blood. It was blood, he realized in a rush, his thoughts suddenly roaring into high gear. Richie opened his mouth and screamed.  
  
Leaping to his feet, Richie took off, bawling his head off as he ran. With no more direction than he had in the cave, he ran, ripping his shirt off and throwing it away. He hadn't felt the blood against his chest, but the mere thought of it made him want to retch. Richie ran until he came upon a low stream, and fell in. He thrashed around in the shallow water, trying to scrub himself clean. Finally, exhausted and dripping wet, Richie climbed back onto the riverbank and threw up. Sickened, but feeling oddly cleansed, he stumbled over to a tree and sagged against it. He steadied himself with his hands, and heard an odd ripping sound. He glanced up to see that his fingers had carved deep gashed down the bark of the tree. By now, he was well past shock and terror, so he drew his hand across the tree again. The bark tore and separated easily underneath his fingers. Richie climbed to his feet and stared at the pattern of slashes in the trunk. Then he reached back, and swung hard at the tree, digging his fingers into it. Wood exploded out from the trunk and Richie stared at the large chunk he had ripped out of the tree. The tree swayed side to side, and then with a loud crack, what was left of the trunk went and the tree fell. Richie stood still in shock as the crash echoed all around him.  
  
He stared down at his fingers, turning them over in slow amazement. They didn't look that much more different, maybe a little more pointed at the tips. His skin and fingernails seemed slightly gray, but that might have been the light. He traced his arms out, and was stunned to feel his elbow come to a sharp point. He bent one of his arms and felt the elbow gingerly. He had always been thin and bony, but now his elbow was like a spike. Spike, he thought, and remembered something. He reached into his pocket, his fingers tearing the jeans in the process, and pulled out the piece of stone he had picked up in the cave. Except now, he saw, it was really more like a crystal than anything. It was a dull green shard that broke apart in his hands easily. Making a fist, he crushed it to powder and shook his hand free of the dust.  
  
Richie stared down at his hands and felt something course through him. He'd never felt anything like it before; it was full, strong, and heady. He started walking slowly forward, running his hands along any tree he happened to pass by. His fingers carved out lines behind him, marking his trail. What was it, he wondered. He slashed at a sapling with his hand and it fell, cut cleanly in two. Then it came to him. Power. He felt powerful. Richie laughed and smiled, his mouth straining against the effort. Power. Power. He felt powerful. Richie picked up the pace, somehow knowing that he would find home sooner or later. He wouldn't get lost, not after all this had happened. He'd found his way out of the cave and he'd find his way home. Everything had been meant to happen, he was sure of this. It was like he could see the course of his life laid out in front of him, and he smiled.  
  
"Dad," he said quietly, "have I got something to show you." 


End file.
